Last night, I spent my dream-time dreadlocking my own hair into tight, tangled ropes. Impossible in real life, it was easy and natural in the dream world. I didn’t give it any thought, back-combing each section as I wandered through the odd landscapes and strange faces of my subconscious. With each knot, each completed dread, I felt myself settling into myself. The parts of me that have been lost and buried over the last few years began to surface, and I began to feel whole again, just a taste of it, but whole and settled and secure.
At the end, just before waking, I realized I needed to find someone to finish locking down the dreads but couldn’t find a soul in the dreamscape who would do the careful last bit of work. Then I realized that I would never be allowed to attend a graduate program in healthcare with my hair locked up, and the thought of not going, of turning down my currently hoped-for acceptance, was a relief.
I woke up with my conventional, straight (if often tangled) locks. Still waiting for an acceptance letter. Still wondering if I want it. Still thinking that even though I don’t know what I’ve really wanted all along, the path I’m on only seems like the right one some of the time. When it seems right, it seems like the perfect, if not inevitable, course. When it seems wrong, it seems like the worst kind of mistake.
entelechyproject 